


Help for the Outcasts

by Alate_Nefelibata



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Daredevil (TV), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: But I also like to see him suffer, Don't take hobos home, Fighting, Foggy doesn't make the best life choices, Friendship, I love Bucky, Minor Angst, Minor Violence, author doesn't know how to tag, homeless, just a bit, thugs - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-06-01 19:33:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6533545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alate_Nefelibata/pseuds/Alate_Nefelibata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This had to be written, because Foggy's always been a magnet for trouble and handsome, emotionally wounded, ducks. While Bucky has always gotten easily attached to scrappy blue eyed underdogs that don't know when to quit. In other word the fic where Foggy finds the winter soldier and is unintentionally adopted by said assassin. Which makes Matt develop a nervous twitch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Help for the Outcasts

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so no idea if this is just a one shot. My first fic here on AO3 though I have a profile on FF.net under the name Defiant Nefelibata. Check me out, I have a few stories there. Remember to Read, Review, and Enjoy!

It had been a long day. It took a few weeks for the media storm of the entire ‘Fisk Fiasco’, as Foggy had thusly dubbed it, to finally pass. The public eye eventually becoming bored and moved on to gibber about the latest celebrity wardrobe malfunction, and the Avengers fighting off the newest bad guy of the week. In truth Foggy was relieved that it was all over, since the entire thing had been hellish to live though. Unfortunately not quite everything was better now that Fisk was out of the picture. Sure their little law firm was doing better, yay for free advertising from the press, they even had a few paying clients now. Which meant being able to pay bills, loans, rent, and even buy some half decent coffee. For this week at least.

However things weren't better between himself and Mat. They were better, so much better, than they had been that first awful week of Foggy finding out about… well, everything. Foggy just about died with shame every time he so much as thought about how he had stormed from Matt's apartment. Leaving his supposed best friend bandaged, half dead, alone, and crying on his couch. He wasn't sure if such thoughts were helping or hindering the healing friendship process. Things continued to be awkward between the once inseparable pair. Foggy kept forgetting that he no longer had to narrate things for Matt, kept opening his mouth to tell jokes and stories before closing it without saying anything. Words unsaid, both kind and angry, coated Foggy’s throat but never made it past his teeth. It didn't help that Matt kept a noticeable distance between them. Hardly ever coming within arms reach of his law partner and poorly hiding a ‘wounded puppy’ look behind his glasses. It was no wonder Matty had to wear a mask if he kept wearing his emotions on his face like that.

Foggy sighed and rubbed his free hand over his face. Attempting to force his thoughts away from Matt and focus on something else, like the beer in his other hand and the new movie he had at home and planned to unwind in front of. After everything he had gone through Foggy deserved to treat himself, dammit! He was going to go home, enjoy himself, and totally not think about how his law partner was likely out getting stabbed and beating up thugs right now. Not until he had made his way through the beer anyway.

A sudden clatter interrupted Foggy’s thoughts, his head jerking up to scan around him. Knowing that walking distracted in Hell’s Kitchen made you an easy target for pickpockets and worse. To the young lawyers relief no one was paying him any attention on the mostly abandoned street. However to his dismay he had a clear line of sight down a darkened alley where it looked like a trio of thugs was taking exception to a homeless guy. The three punks had a tense shaggy figure cornered. It didn’t look like any punches had been thrown yet, though Nelon could tell by the angry body language and ugly swears being thrown it wouldn’t be long before something did happen. The homeless guy didn’t move or say a word, merely hunched tighter into the shadows.

Foggy twitched nervously, debating what he should do. The homeless fella, despite being mostly hidden in shadow, looked fairly broad in the shoulders. Surely he could handle himself, right? Then again it was three against one, so maybe calling the police would be better. However Foggy knew that Brett wasn’t working tonight, and ever since the extent of the police corruption was brought to light the young lawyer didn’t fully trust any other cops. The three stooges at the end of the ally shifted, working themselves into a frenzy that was just about ready to turn violent. Something in the back of Nelson’s mind shifted, rearing its self righteous head and getting angry. The same part of his mind that compelled him to become a lawyer instead of a butcher. To leave Landman and Zach with nothing but his best friend and a box of stolen bagels. Or run into a bomb strewn street to help people while injured. Foggy had a feeling he was going to regret this.

“Oy!”

The trio of punks turned as one in surprise at Foggy’s shout. Stepping forward with a strange mix of adrenaline and bravado Foggy did his best to square his shoulders to make himself seem bigger. That kind of thing worked on animal planet, so why not the wild streets of Hell’s Kitchen, right?

Foggy glared as best he could, “Leave him alone and get out of here before I call the cops!” A bluff, for sure, but hopefully an effective one.

They froze for a moment, as if surprised that they had been caught, before one of the thugs started chuckling. In moments all three started cackling, reminding Foggy quite vividly of a pack of rabid starving coyotes, as they turned away from the homeless man and moved toward their new prey. Foggy could feel his mouth going dry as they cut off his means of escape. His heart was pounding, and the young lawyer could feel himself being put into the role of the hapless baby caribou of this documentary, but he didn't back down.

“Looks like you took a wrong turn buddy,” thug number one sneered, his yellow teeth making Foggy want to offer him a breath mint. He looked like he could use it.

Thug number two hacked a rough laugh that sounded like he smoked for a living and not a lifestyle. “Ya he did,” he agreed with thug one before looking at Foggy. “We ain't doing anything wrong man. This street belongs to us, we were just making sure this bum pays his rent.”

“Gotta pay to use our street,” thug number three grunted. This one was easily the biggest of the trio, but also the greasiest if his lank hair was any indication.

Foggy risked a glance out of the corner of his eye toward the shadowed figure of the homeless guy in question. The man was still huddled silently in his corner, as if hoping to eventually become one with the wall and vanish. His posture was tense but ultimately defeated like the whole world had beaten him, chewed him up, and then spit him back out again for round two. Something about that made the self righteous and extremely stupid part of the young lawyers brain kick into gear for the second time.

“I got to say, if you three really do own this street then you’re the shittiest slumlords, oh sorry- landlords, I’ve ever seen. And I live in a matchbox that smells like someone died in it,” Foggy drawled nonchalantly. “I mean really? You don’t have someone else you can go assault and beat up just because your parents didn't hug you enough as kids?”

"You mean like you?" Thug number two hissed as he reached for his back pocket, bringing out a wickedly gleaming switchblade.

That of course was certainly not what Foggy meant. Unfortunately his hindbrain recognized that he had just landed himself up the deep shit river without a paddle, decided 'to hell with it', and proceeded to hijack his mouth and use sarcasm to poke a hole in the boat. 

"Oh wow, I haven't heard that comeback before. You come up with that all on your own?" Foggy snarked while his higher brain functions wondered just what in the name of Hell’s Kitchen was he doing. Naturally the oversized Neanderthals took offence at that and snarled menacingly as they circled closer.

Foggy backpedaled until his back hit the wall, leaving him with nowhere else to go. This was the part on animal channel where the baby gazelle got torn apart. The young lawyer grit his teeth and couldn’t help but think of Matt. Who was going to keep that moron from killing himself with Catholic guilt if Foggy was gone? Karen was great but she also had a reckless streak in her as big as the Empire State Building. Suddenly Nelson was grabbed by his collar and slammed further into the wall by thug number three. The small case of beer in his hand falling to the ground, while number two twirled his knife and pondered where to stab it. Just when Foggy was sure that he was either about to die or suffer some extreme pain, something quite unexpected happened. 

A low growl echoed through the alley, making all four men pause. At first Foggy thought that maybe some dog had wandered into the fight looking for food. However it quickly became apparent that there was no dog and the menacing sound was in fact coming from the homeless man that Foggy had been trying to help. The once slumped shoulders were straightened and the cap that hid his face was tilted back just enough for the man to glare balefully at them all. The hobo’s fists were clenched into tight fists and the look in his eye made Foggy’s mouth go dry. As the stupid baby caribou and lead act in this documentary, Foggy had the feeling that a lone arctic wolf had just shown up on scene. The three thug musketeers however, too confident in their numbers, couldn't seem to clue in that a bigger predator had just shown up.

“Wait your turn ya bum, we’ll get to ya after we’ve taken care of this donut,” thug number two barked, not seeming to recognize the danger he was turning his back to.

The knife rose up and Foggy couldn't help but to close his eyes and cringe, but the knife never falls. At least, not into Foggy. Due to his closed eyes the young lawyer doesn't see it but in a blur of movement the homeless man reached out of the dark. The silver gleam of the man's left wrist that shows where his sleeve rides up goes unnoticed but the snapping of thug number two’s wrist does not. With a scream the lifetime smoker drops his weapon, which is deftly caught before it can hit the ground and stabbed into the arm of, Mr. Greasy Hair, who's holding Foggy against the wall. With a stagger Nelson lands back on his feet, confused as to the chaos happening around him. 

Greasy Hair, now with a knife in his bicep, reels back with a roar of pain from the attack. Giving the hobo enough room to turn and cold clock the thug still leaning over his broken wrist before he can recover. Thug number two drops like an unconscious bag of rocks, the punch in the face coming as a complete surprise. With one thug down for the count the other two become more dangerous and desperate. The big guy reaches for his wound and pulls out the knife, giving himself a weapon and the homeless man’s next target. Foggy watched in distant awe as the man he thought was a hobo lunges at the largest thug with no hesitation and ruthless precision. A whirlwind of punches and kicks being traded back and forth. At this point the leader, Mr. Badbreath, finally seems to pull himself together and moves to lunge at the unprotected back of their attacker.

Without thinking Foggy reached for something, anything, to use for a weapon. His hand connected with the handle of a cold metal trash can lid, and without thinking the young lawyer swung it as hard as he could at the back of Badbreath’s head. Though Foggy had never been on a softball team, he was quite proud of how good his swing was. Especially since it knocked thug number one onto his face, even if it was a cheap shot sucker punch. All’s fair in love, war, and street fighting after all. Panting from adrenaline and exertion Foggy looked over to where his saviour was finishing with the last conscious thug. Apparently during Foggy’s distraction the homeless man had gotten Greasy Hair into a headlock and was sending him to the ground for a quick nap. For a moment the young lawyer was worried that his darkly dressed saviour was going to hold on too long and kill the man. But after a moment's hesitation the man dropped his defeated opponent to the ground.

Foggy sighed in relief, still clutching the trash can lid in his hands, “Thanks for, uh, stepping in. I mean I totally had them on the ropes but… thanks.”

The homeless man says nothing, though the young lawyer can see something flickering in the man's dark eyes. It doesn’t take long for the silence to get awkward. Something that Foggy doesn’t really do very well.

“I guess I should call the cop to come pick these guys up and give a statement,” Foggy complained with a sigh as he set the trash can lid back where he had picked it up. “So much for my relaxing evening.”

Foggy reached to his pocket for his phone only to find that his wrist was trapped in a strong gloved grip. Looking up into the mostly expressionless face of Mr.Homeless Foggy could feel himself shrink a bit in that icy gaze.

“No cops,” the man rasped sounding as if he hadn't talked in several weeks.

Nelson hesitated, a thousand different thoughts about why this man wouldn’t want the authorities called, not many of them good. The pressure on his wrist decreased a fragmented tugged, the motion seemed almost pleading. Foggy considered a moment longer, thinking about how the man had moved as he had attacked the thug trio. The guy obviously had some serious training to get that good at hitting people. Maybe he was a veteran, down on his luck and trying to scrape by while trying to outrun his demons. Either way, the guy had pretty much saved Foggy from getting stabbed, so technically he owed the dude something. 

Foggy nodded, relaxing his arm to show he wasn’t going to reach for his phone, “Ok, no cops. I promise.”

The man waited for several moments before releasing Foggy immediately backing away several feet. Resisting the urge to rub his wrist, which was likely going to bruise now but oh well, Foggy studied the man a bit better. The clothes were dark and obviously second if not thirdhand. Though curiously his boots were of high make and looked like they could take a beating and still go for a second round. The guy seemed to have a tendency to hunch in on himself. Though if that was to make himself smaller and more easy to overlook or because of whatever was going on in his head was unclear. The hair that showed from under his cap was dark, shoulder length, and looked as if it hadn’t been washed or cared for in quite some time. However he carried no bag, nor did he seem to push around a cart of belongings like some of the homeless. So far as Foggy could tell the man didn't seem injured from the fight, but it was always best to ask.

“Hey man, you’re not hurt or anything right?”

Mystery homeless man didn’t answer only give Foggy a strange look and tilt his head ever so slightly.

“Yes? No? You’re not in shock and bleeding out anywhere right? Because if I need to call Claire during her hospital shift again she might just stab me with a scalpel.”

“I… am still functional,” the guy answers in a robotic tone. Which totally did not answer Foggy’s question but he’d take it for the moment.

“Do you have a place to go? You know, a safe place to sleep tonight and what not?”

Silence rang for several moments before the man answered uncertainly, “Assets do not need sleep.”

Nelson couldn’t help the raised eyebrow that came from that statement. The young lawyer paused for a moment, considering his thoughts carefully. It was pretty obvious that this guy had some major problems, and very obvious that Foggy didn’t even know the half of them. Most people would never consider what he was thinking. However Foggy thought he was a pretty good judge of character, despite how wrong he had been about Matt for years, and he owed this guy for making sure he didn't acquire any extra holes in his gut. The least he could do was offer the guy some place safe to crash, just for the one night. The trick was figuring out how to word it right so the guy would accept without damaging his pride but Foggy was a master at words. The last thing this guy could want would be pity.

Leaning over Foggy picked up the small case of beer that he had been forced to drop earlier in the attack. “Listen man, I know I already caused you a lot of trouble tonight. Since you obviously had the situation handled,” the young lawyer waved a hand at the still unconscious thugs laying around their feet. “But if you’re willing to help me the rest of the way home I’m willing to share my beer and give you a place to sleep for tonight.”

The homeless guy seemed surprised, though it didn’t last long on his expressionless face. Foggy however could see the tiniest amount of longing in the guy's eyes, being a lawyer made you pretty good at reading people.

Foggy wiggled the case of beer tantalizingly, “Come on man. Can’t say no to free beer right?”

The tiniest twitch at the corner of the man's mouth and the smallest nod Foggy had ever seen gave Foggy the answer he was hoping for. The young lawyer beamed and led the way out of the alley, his silent companion following like a shadow.

The silence didn’t last longer they walk along the street, “Oh! I probably should have mentioned earlier, I’m Foggy. My full name’s actually Franklin Nelson, but since I was always the loud kid in grade school I got the awesome nickname. Kinda backfired on the bullies that wanted to try and embarrass me that I thought their taunt was cool.”

Mystery man didn’t reply, or even talk back, and Foggy didn’t ask him to. He had no right to ask this guy to volunteer any information about himself, so Foggy filled the silence for him. Nattering about everything and yet nothing at all. Luckily his talking doesn't seem to bother the guy, or if it does he's very good at hiding it. The rest of the walk was fairly pleasant, or at least better than getting attacked in a dark alleyway. Foggy’s building was a tiny, ugly thing, the brickwork crumbling both on the outside and the inside. Though the front door worked well enough, even if it was drafty enough in the winter frost would creep into the lobby. Yes, Foggy had complained. No, it hadn't been fixed.

“Ah, home sweet home, please ignore the smell of cats. Mrs. Brussels in apartment three is a rebel that ignores the ‘no pets’ policy. I mean I adore kittens as much as the next handsome macho man but thirteen seems a little excessive to me. But hey, she makes a great spaghetti bolognese which she shares with me on Wednesdays after I thwarted Buttons last escape attempt.” Foggy shrugged as he led the way to the second floor and his apartment door.

The lock to Foggy’s apartment was always a bit sticky, needing two twists of the doorknob and a strong hip check to open. It was one of the reasons Foggy wasn’t worried about robbers other than the fact he had nothing of value to steal. The apartment itself was small for the overinflated price of the rent. The walls and the carpet were the same color of sour cream, giving the whole space a bland aura. All of the furniture was on the cheap side. A small box TV and a fold out futon for a couch that the young lawyer had bought back in law school and still smelled like Doritos. The kitchen was so small Foggy occasionally had trouble turning around in it but it was clean. It was mostly just the microwave that saw the most use in anycase. 

Clutter, mostly papers from work, lay on just about every surface except the floor which Foggy had gotten into the habit of keeping clear in case Matt ever came over to visit. Which the young lawyer supposed was unnecessary now since tripping was actually very unlikely for his vigilante law partner. After all if Matt could leap from rooftop to rooftop and parkour around the city it wasn’t likely that a dirty shirt was going to land him on his face.

“Sit anywhere you like, I’ll make us a bite to eat. Beer on an empty stomach is never a good idea after all.”

Foggy plunked the case of beer onto a stack of folders on the coffee table before heading to the kitchen to see if he could scare something to eat out of the cupboards. He was aware that his unexpected guest was looking around the place uncertainly, making note of the space and any exits and entrances. The young lawyer didn’t mind. He had an uncle that had some pretty severe PTSD after going to war. Loud noises, sudden movements, hyper vigilance, getting lost in memories and nightmares, the works. It took a long time for his uncle to get better, to realize that he was home and safe in a supportive family environment. Even then, some days were worse than others and occasional triggers would pop up. Foggy couldn’t imagine how bad it could have gotten without the whole family around to help support him. Though Mystery man came pretty close to how he imagined it.

“Dude no offence but you need a shower,” Foggy said with what he hoped was a harmless grin as he leaned around the kitchen corner. “If you want I can loan you a pair of my sweatpants and give those clothes a good wash. The plumbing has next to no pressure but there’s plenty of hot water.” By plenty of hot water Foggy meant that the taps only had ‘boiling egg’ and ‘lava pit’ for settings but he had a feeling his guest wouldn’t mind.

“Come on it’s right through here,” Foggy said as he led the way to the bathroom.

The young lawyer quickly picked up his used towel from that morning and grabbed a fresh one from the linen closet. Ducking into his room and grabbing his softest pair of sweatpants and a baggy hoodie for good measure only took a moment. The bathroom was tiny and hardly bigger than a small closet, and not the walk in kind. There was barely enough room for the shower stall, sink, and toilet let alone a person. Foggy quickly deposited the towel and clothes into his guests arms with a smile.

“There you go. Feel free to use my shampoo, I hope you don't mind avocado and olive oil scent. I’ve found it's the best at keeping my locks long and luscious. Take as long as you like, dinner’s going to take me a few minutes anyway. Enjoy man.”

Foggy then walked away, giving the man his spaces he retreated to the kitchen. Peeking out of the corner of his eye as he checked the fridge he could see that his guest had barely moved. Slowly the darkly dressed man made his way into Foggy’s bathroom, making his way toward the shower. The man moved gingerly on the cheap tile flooring, rubbing the fabric of Foggy’s worn towel between his gloved fingers, a glimmer of what might be awe at the softness of the cheap fabric in his eyes. The look makes something in Foggy’s chest tighten like a vice and decide he was going to break out the really nice steaks he had been saving. 

His guest eases the door shut and quietly closes it, only to open and shut it several times before closing it a final time. Foggy figures he’s making sure that the door will open again and adds ‘enclosed spaces’ to his mental ‘Mystery man’s potential triggers’ list. The shower can soon be heard starting up so Foggy gets a move on cooking, thawing the steaks in the microwave while he quickly peels some potatoes. Within several minutes the apartment is filled with the smell of cooking meat and spices. The young lawyer is just beginning to wonder if the guy is drowning in the shower when he hears the water turn off. Foggy clears his files off the piece of plywood he calls his coffee table and sets out the food. The bathroom door cracks open uncertainly, just enough so that Foggy’s mystery man can slip out in a cloud of steam.

Foggy grins at the sight, “Well look at you. I told you the avocado and olive oil shampoo was amazing right?”

The guy looked a lot better once he was clean. He still had a lot of stubble going on but now that he was dressed in the sweatpants and hoodie he looked calmer. The again maybe that was because of the magic that was a hot shower after a long tiring day. Foggy noticed that guest had kept his left hand glove on but figured it was a comfort thing.

“We got mashed potatoes, a can of corn, and some fine steak cuts. Grilled to perfection by none other than myself. Did I tell you how my mom wanted me to become a butcher? Come on and sit down, crack a beer and eat, it's my best story.”

Foggy babbled through dinner, shovelling food into his mouth between stories while the TV played a cheap soap opera gently in the background. His guest seemed to relax a little, or at least lose a fraction of the tension in his shoulders. Every now and then Mystery man would pause for some unknown reason. A few times he stared at the cutlery knife in his hand, or he would rub the futon as if to ground himself. Twice Foggy caught the man staring at him, not threateningly, but as if wondering why this stranger had brought him home like a lost puppy. None of this of course stopped the man from eating. Once prompted by Foggy and after only a slight hesitation the man finished half the mashed potatoes, two beers and three of the five steaks foggy had cooked.

“Wow, slow down a bit dude,” Foggy said with a laugh though internally he was worried the man would overeat and end up puking.

His guest immediately stopped eating, putting down his cutlery as if it had burned him. Realizing his mistake Foggy took another scoop of corn and put it on the man’s plate

“I didn’t say you had to stop eating, just that you need to slow down.” The young lawyer said softly. 

The man watched Foggy carefully for a minute before slowly picking up his fork and taking another bite of food. Nelson continued talking, only stopping for a moment to take his guests clothes across the hall to the washing machine. It wasn’t long after they had finished all the food that Foggy started yawning. Turns out that being almost stabbed could really take it out of a guy.

“Sorry man, I’m feeling pretty wiped out. Let me move some stuff and get you some blankets.”

Foggy went back to the linen closet and grabbed a quilt that his Nana had made him for Christmas years ago and a spare pillow. Mystery man stood back, as if unsure of what was going on as Foggy made the futon into a bed.

“There you go!” Foggy exclaimed quietly as he plopped the pillow into place. “It’s not the best but you should be warm and comfortable. If you need anything just help yourself or ya know, let me know or something.”

The guy didn’t say anything, just looked at the makeshift bed as if he was lost. Unsure, Foggy cleared his throat awkwardly, “Well um… goodnight then.”

Quickly the young lawyer turns to go to his room, fully planning on locking his door and crashing into his mattress so hard maybe he’ll forget he’s got a stranger sleeping on his couch. A stranger that would hopefully not steal anything or kill Foggy in his sleep. However he is stopped by a surprisingly gentle grip on his sleeve.

Without looking at him, and in a voice so soft Foggy thinks even Matt might have missed it if he had dropped a pin.

“Thank you,” the man whispers.

Foggy smiles, “No worries man. Hakuna matata and pay it forward and all that jazz.”

Mystery man’s brow furrows in what might be confusion but he nods slightly and releases Foggy’s sleeve. The young lawyer gives the man one last smile before crossing the room and closing his bedroom door. Foggy doesn't bother with locking the door, but does succeed in falling face first into his pillow and an immediate and dreamless sleep.

*************

The Asset is not sure what to think of the strange civilian, though James knows he likes him. He seems to bring strange memories back, of a smaller skinnier man with bluer eyes, also holding a trash can lid and picking fights he can't win. At first the Asset thought that he might be a clever Hydra agent, but there was too much evidence against the idea. The civilian, Foggy, was too soft around the edges and in his manner to be a Hydra agent. He talked too much and smiled like he meant it and gave them food instead of a feeding tube and didn't ask questions that demanded answers. Showers were warm with a fluffy towels instead of freezing cold clinical spray downs with a hose.

The Agent felt like it was too good to be true, and James had to agree, but both of them couldn't deny that or the first time they were able to sleep for a few hours without a nightmare.

**********

The light of morning finds Foggy walking into his living room only to find a set of perfectly folded sheets and an apartment empty, of everyone except himself.


End file.
